


The Art of Breaking

by Stray_Ashes



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, An Artist life is hell, Art AU, Artist!Kurt, Blam! - Freeform, Burt is an angel, Coffee meeting, Future Fic, High-school friends, I can tell, I really Love Elliott, Klaine, Klaine- Freeform, M/M, Mostly for the occasion tho, New York Academy of Art, Nyada!Rachel Berry, Phoenix - Freeform, Sam Is a Good Friend, So I'm gonna add him, Teasing, The Art of Breaking, dumb things, emotional things, history repeats itself, klaine AU, model!Blaine, street art, street artist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-14 13:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stray_Ashes/pseuds/Stray_Ashes
Summary: “I blame it on Blaine” Kurt blurted out absentmindedly, without even realizing he was speaking. He was still feeling submerged deep into a clouded haze, unsure whether it was because he was still drunk or because it was the beginning of an inevitable hungover. Tomorrow was going to be a long-ass day.A flash of his once-forgotten high-school friend’s naked back and butt crossed his mind. Being an artist was tough. “Yeah. I blame Blaine”.___Or, Kurt Hummel is a talented student at the New York Academy of Art, but his creative life is stressful and draining, as much as he loves what he does. However, a particular project weights on his shoulders, and one of his teachers convinces him to "hire" a model for the painting.What Kurt couldn't imagine was that he would end up with a hot coffee in his hands telling so to an old high-school friend he had almost completely forgotten, but what he really wasn't expecting was the eager offer he received, as memories flooded his mind."Don't you remember? It's only payback".____Honestly, I just am an artist that loves writing about art and although I am Italian, I love writing in English, so I'm trying to get better and better at it. Give it a shot?





	1. Blame Blaine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> To sum it up, this was born completely casually, but in the end I kind of created some sort of plot for it. Being an artist (?), and loving Glee and mostly Kurt a hell of a lot, I decided to fuse the two things, and write about both.  
> Also, I am actually Italian, so if you see mistakes or anything, please point them out to me! I'll be glad to fix everything.
> 
> The title is inspired to The Art of Breaking by Thousand Foot Krutch.
> 
> The chapter is kind of short, but it's more like a prologue, I guess?  
> Have a nice reading, thank you for your time

  

 

 

Honestly, Kurt barely knew where he was.

For sure, he was kind of feeling way too much blood rushing into his head, making his temples throb slightly in time with his heartbeat, but he still couldn’t find in himself the strength to _actually_ get up and sit straight. There weren’t many straight things about him in general, and even fewer when he was absolutely _wasted._ Which, he was.

The lying upside down on the couch factor – long legs sticking out obnoxiously and hair merely inches away from the carpet, his usually pale skin red because of the blood rush paired with sweaty skin on his forehead – kind of rendered him a trashed mess of limbs and sticky clothes, something out of an abstract painting. Or worse, out of a dumpster.

However, a mess inside a mess looks completely at ease – or so he convinced himself while considering this situation, given the bunch of other people strayed onto different surfaces of the apartment smelling like alcohol, pot and (weirdly) like coconut. That one was probably Rachel’s fault.

“Please,” Mercedes’ voice, feeble for once in her life, said from somewhere on Kurt’s right side. Or was it the left? Kurt couldn’t tell anymore. The world was flipped upside-down and wildly spinning and he was afraid it wasn’t gonna stop for a while. “Please somebody remind me how the hell did we end up in this situation”.

“You mean you being drunk and drooling on the chair?” came Sam’s voice, drowsy and distant.

“ _All of us_ being drunk, _high_ , and drooling on _m_ y things, actually” she snapped back, then winced.

“I blame it on the Nyada” Rachel chimed in, looking somewhat pained, probably replaying something crazy her teachers did. Kurt forced himself to move his gaze upwards and meet her figure, only to find his friend lying on her back upon the carpet, a couple meters away from him, hands dropped on her stomach and wide, unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers in the world.

“I think I’ll just blame it on the alcohol” Santana said, her face partly covered by a pillow, and nobody contextualized. She was the kind of person to get drunk without a real reason to do it, but just because the alcohol was good – and mostly free. Nobody judged her anyway, it’d be at their own risk.

“Kurt”. Being addressed, Kurt moved his eyes again, looking back at Rachel and meeting her expectant gaze to discover she had abandoned the ceiling in favor of staring at him in an alienated way, like she was seeing him for the first time. “Is it me or is it you that is lying upside down”.

Kurt blinked slowly, thoughtful. It was him. Wasn’t it? Hard to tell anymore. “No, it’s you. You’re lying on the ceiling”.

She considered him wide-eyed, then looked back at the ceiling. “Shit”.

“Rachel just swore”.

“We heard”.

A giggle, and then silence was cast for a couple minutes.

“I blame it on Lord Tabbington. He sold the apartment for drugs. The elf living under our carpet told me”.

“I don’t think your cat’s the only one on drugs, Brittany”.

“I blame….” Sam closed his eyes and started humming like he was deep in thought, except he probably wasn’t.

“I blame it on Blaine” Kurt blurted out absentmindedly, without even realizing he was speaking. He was still feeling submerged deep into a clouded haze, unsure whether it was because he was still drunk or because it was the beginning of an inevitable hungover. Tomorrow was going to be a long-ass day. A flash of his once-forgotten high-school friend’s naked back and butt crossed his mind. Being an artist was tough. “Yeah. I blame Blaine”.

Mercedes clicked her tongue. “You cant blame a stranger, Kurt”.

“He’s not. Well. Not… _really_ ”. Kurt blinked a couple times, thoughtful. It tasted funny on his tongue. “It sounds funny though”.

“What does”.

“Blame…” Kurt repeated, his voice distant and weird. He should probably get up already. “…Blaine”.

Rachel just hummed, like she agreed, or maybe she just wanted to hum.

“Blame Blaine. Blaine blame. Blamain” he murmured dumbly, mostly to himself, feeling content like he just invented the best of puns when it wasn’t even a pun at all.

Sam clicked his tongue. “I need some water”.

“Don’t say water, I’ve been needing to pee for over an hour”

“Ruin my carpet and you’re – ah fuck, my head – you’re… so fucking _dead_ ”

If the arguing evolved somehow, Kurt didn’t know, because he blacked out soon after. Hours later he remembered a glimpse of himself jerking awake and falling– face-first and scared shitless – on the floor, then hands touching him and voices laughing high-pitchedly and way too loudly. At that point, everything returned to be black and confused again.

When he woke up several hours later, he was surprisingly at home, in his bed, on top of the covers, fully – or mostly, at least – clothed. Always a good sign; experience taught a lot. He still smelled like sweat and alcohol but, incredibly, no signs of vomit. Nor anything _worse._

Sighing, Kurt held his head between his hands, massaging his temples and helplessly willing away the headache _and_ the vague nausea, a whiny complaint on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of “I ain’t gonna drink ever again”, but he had lost count of how many times he had told himself so and punctually failed for a reason or another. So he just gave up and stayed silent, trying instead to lift himself up very, very slowly into a sitting position, his vision spinning wildly and his limbs aching. He was probably sporting some kind of livid on his forehead, too, thanks to his drunken determination on staying upside-down on Mercedes’ couch, which he really hoped he didn’t ruin or he would never hear the end of it.

He wondered if Sam eventually did ruin the carpet in the end, but it was a fleeting thought.

His apartment was pleasingly silent, just the sound of little drops falling somewhere in the bathroom and the muffled chaos of traffic from the street below, seemingly far-away yet still so close.

Kurt closed his eyes again, wishing for the hundredth time he could magically be transported somewhere else where it could be really, totally silent, just for a couple minutes. Somewhere where humanity didn’t reach, with no light and no time and no responsibilities, just…peace. Some other place where he would be able to think or not think at all, while breathing in clear, unpolluted air and just _be_ , just exist.

He wished he could paint something like that. Something that deep, primal and philosophical, meaningful yet meaningless at the same time.

Idly, he wondered if he should just…take a canvas and paint it with a dark, thick layer of black.

Idly, he realized it was too early and he was too hungover to think about this kind of stuff. So, he shoved it in the back of his mind for later contemplation.

The matter at hand was getting up, change his clothes (because he didn’t think he would be able to survive in this outfit any longer), wash his teeth and shower thoroughly and then drink and eat something. Honestly, he had no idea what time it was but the thought of looking for his phone and power up the screen already hurt his eyes, so he chose against it and decided that, whatever the hour, he wanted breakfast so he was going to have it.

His home, his life, his rules.

He felt like eating pancakes, and while stumbling toward the bathroom, he hoped a hot shower would take away the rest of his headache and general dizziness, so that he could cook himself something without burning his apartment down.

Before he reached his destination he grabbed a change of casual clothes and decided that he was not going to style his hair up like he usually did because, after all, today he had no reason to leave this house, so nobody was ever going to know. Whatever.

His phone decided to go off on that same moment, starting to vibrate (it stayed on vibration or on silent, no other option. He couldn’t stand obnoxious ringtones) somewhere in his bedroom, and Kurt wasn’t sure whether he was sad or happy at the idea that he hadn’t left it at Mercedes’ apartment. He definitely wasn’t a loner, not per se, but there were times when Kurt wished he could be the last human being on Earth, for at least a couple of days. No one calling him, no one wanting things from him, no one looking at him weirdly if he randomly decided to run down the street in his underwear. Or naked.

Don’t misunderstand him, he _loved_ clothes and fashion and he was _nowhere near_ a nudist or other weird shit like that, but an Art student life was hell and so very stressful, and there were situations that made him want to give up everything and shed himself off of every weight he could feel, physically and mentally, and then run away and scream profanities in front of people. There was something incredibly therapeutic just in the thought alone.

His phone went silent, and Kurt realized he hadn’t moved from his spot to even try and locate the thing and maybe answer, or just see who the caller was and _then_ maybe, just maybe, answer.

Blinking rapidly, Kurt sighed once again and went to look for the damn object, eventually finding it simply abandoned at the end of his bed, partially hid between the creases of his sheets. As soon as he took it in his hand, it went off once more, flashing Rachel’s name and a ridiculous pic of her he took their first day in New York, but he startled and dropped it. Luckily (right?) it just feel back on the soft bed, bouncing slightly.

Frowning, Kurt contemplated whether to just leave it be and go for the shower, or take it back up despite his frustration. Did Rachel deserve his voicemail? That was a tricky question. Depended on the day.

At length, Kurt sighed one more time and answered the call. “I hope this is important” he said groggily, opting against a casual Hello because he was childish and nervous and he smelled. Checking if his change of clothes was still around his other arm, Kurt started moving towards the bathroom and the hot water calling seductively for him.

On the other end of the line, something rustled and Rachel said “Kurt”, in a reflective, pensive way, like she had been thinking about something for some time. Also, she wasn’t in the mood for Hellos too, apparently. Her voice was weak and for once it didn’t sound like the voice of a singer at all. She probably was still pretty hungover, too, Kurt remembered distractedly.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Kurt saw he kind of looked like a mess himself, hair sticking up in improbable directions and his skin paler than usual. He frowned. “Yeah?”

A beat. “Who the hell is Blaine”.

Kurt stumbled and slipped on water and then he was falling, painfully hitting his toes against the bathtub and fleetingly hoping he died in the process.

He didn’t.

His phone slid away somewhere on the white smooth floor, but Rachel heard for sure the long, decorated flow of swearing and fucks and hells that fell from Kurt’s lips in rapid succession.

Somewhere else in New York, a wide-eyed Rachel Berry wetted her lips and tentatively said: “Kurt? Kurt are you… are you okay?”.

 

 

 

 

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say? Nothing much happened, but I hope to get things more interesting next chapter, stick around!
> 
> Thank you for your time,  
> if you want to see my art and write to me about anything, you can find me on Instagram (or Twitter etc), the name is always @Stray_Ashes


	2. Instinct

 

 

 

Holding the ice pack to his head, Kurt scowled and tried to remember when exactly had his life started to get so stressful. ‘Dreams take sacrifice’, his dad had said months and months before. Kurt wondered if a dead son was part of the sacrifice he was referring to… Probably not.

Kurt briefly imagined if he really _did_ die, picturing his neighbors faces when they would have found him sprawled cold and pathetically lifeless on his bathroom floor with shitty hair and dirty clothes.

Ugh. No, definitely not how he had fantasized his own departure.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go the hospital?” Rachel said tentatively, raising her hand toward him before dropping it back on her lap, like she thought he might be able to bite her or something, if touched. Maybe he could.

“Absolutely fucking not” he spat back vehemently, making her wince. Kurt had always been mean and sharp-tongued in his own, sassy way like every respectful artist should, but he usually kept it to a minimum – or a medium – in favor of acting in a more controlled, elegant way. However, considering the swelling on his head and his bruised ego, she could sympathetically understand.  

Soon after he had fallen spatting profanities, he’d gone completely silent and unresponsive for a while, consequently making Rachel panic and imagine every possible worst case scenario she could come up with, definitely not ready to lose one of her best friends this soon. Her mind had stuttered to a halt and blacked out so much she couldn’t even remember the emergency number to call for help, but then a low, whiny moan had come from the other end of the line (agonizing, but alive), and Rachel had finally felt her heart regain its beating.

Kurt had muttered something similar to “Please stop freaking out, oh my god” through gritted teeth, then he’d tried to prove her he was relatively fine, but she insisted on coming over to his place and check on him herself and be ready in case he suddenly passed out – emergency number already dialed on her phone, this time. Head-concussion was a serious matter, after all.

Call her over-protective, she wouldn’t budge, because she was determined on being a good friend, and even a mother, if the situation requested as much. Taking care of an artsy best friend constantly on the edge of a breakdown was tougher than normal people thought: late night phone calls about drinking paint by accident had happened, alongside rushed races to the closest hospital, not to mention that time he almost burned down the apartment trying to set fire to a couple canvases he didn’t really like.

Through the years, he had helped her out a lot, too, like supporting her over the phone in the middle of the street when she panicked after accidentally bumping her car against her teacher’s, or when she thought she was definitely going to die before she could even make it big in Broadway that time she caught pneumonia.

Luckily, they both lived in New York.

They even thought about moving in together for a period, whereas they both had particular work to do and busy schedules and neither of the two had any significant other at the moment, but they were afraid that would’ve ruined their friendship and made them go completely batshit crazy one and for all. In short, they were okay with taking a lot of taxis.

“It’s just, that seems like a considerable bump you took there. I don’t want you to feel sick all of a sudden, and you never know with this kind of stuff. Once, another student in my class accidentally fell hitting her head and then she like, threw up all ov–“

“Goddammit Rachel, just shut up”.

“Okay okay, I got it” she sighed, raising her hands in defeat. She managed to stay shut and put for less than a minute, anyway. “Do you want more ice?”.

This was Kurt’s turn to sigh heavily and shake his head, before wincing and regretting the movement. He lowered the ice pack and tried to lightly touch his forehead, craving for a mirror and never wanting to see his face ever again at the same time. “It’s nothing, I promise. I’ve gone through a lot worse, believe me”, he paused, considering. “My foot kind of hurts more, actually”.

She chuckled, resting her head on one hand and smiling slyly. “Oh, I do believe you. Remember that one time we _both_ fell down the stairs with like, five bags toppling over with us?”

“Oh god, of course I remember. We looked like a tram just ran over us. Those bags kind of saved our lives probably…”, although they most likely wouldn’t have even fallen in the first place if it hadn't been for the heavy bags, his mind offered. Kurt shrugged. “I was helping you move in into your new apartment, right?”

Rachel smiled warmly, recalling the old memories. It had been changeling and new, and she had been grateful she had had Kurt by her side. Everyone else kind of bailed on her that day, probably conscious of the amount of bags and shit she carried with herself.

She shook her head, getting up from her spot on the bed and heading to Kurt’s kitchen. “How about coffee?”.

“That sounds wonderful” Kurt replied smiling crookedly, finally feeling a bit more light and relaxed. The hungover had almost completely gone away, he survived through a near death experience and his friend was with him keeping him company, so he was fine and had every right to let himself smile a little. He got up too and put the ice pack down on his nightstand, promising himself to get rid of it later. “Thank you, by the way”.

“It’s nothing, and you know it dear”, came her easy reply from the kitchen, right when the low sound of the coffee maker started rumbling. Kurt lazily looked around, then he convinced himself to finally head to his bathroom and change clothes – this time controlling thoroughly that there were no puddles on the floor.

Soon after he padded to the kitchen to find out Rachel had just placed two coffee mugs on the table, and she greeted him with a soft smile as soon as she noticed his arrival. They both knew so well each other’s places that they moved easily in them, chill and comfortable.

However, when they both were settled on their chairs, mugs in hand, a strange and quivering silence fell over, as if soaked up with expectations. It usually didn’t happen, unless they were fighting, so Kurt quickly tried to remember what could have happened, but came up blank. Yesterday’s night was a blur and this morning kind of was, too. He remembered waking up feeling dizzy and groggy and then Rachel calling – the same Rachel that was now staring at him intently over the brim of her mug.

Kurt swallowed, suddenly feeling uneasy, and wondered if he forgot some very special holiday. It wasn’t her birthday, was it? It wasn’t his either, right? He took a cautious sip, then lowered the cup. “What?”.

Rachel raised her brows so high they almost disappeared under her bangs. “Don’t fool me, Hummel. The question I asked this morning still counts”

Kurt blinked slowly, realizing he was definitely missing something here. “What question”.

Rachel gave him a disbelieving side look, but frowned when his expression remained blank and kind of lost. Refraining herself from suggesting the hospital again, she settled on rolling her eyes, still thinking he was bullshitting her. “The question I asked you before you lowkey tried to kill yourself”.

She waited for some kind of bell to ring in him but he didn’t budge in the slightest. She sighed dramatically. “I don’t remember much from yesterday, I’ll give you that, and you probably don’t, too, but there is one thing _I_ remember _very well_. Which, it’s you sputtering something about ‘blaming Blaine’. So….”

Kurt’s eyes went suddenly huge.

“Who the _hell is Blaine”._

And it all came back. Or, most of it. Kurt recalled lying upside down on the couch and watching Rachel and drooling slightly and rambling nonsense that _apparently_ involved the mention of _Blaine_ , which was absurd because, as Mercedes had promptly supplied, too, he actually _was a stranger_. Why, for the life of him, had he said that stuff? For fuck’s sake.

He let his head fall between his hands with a loud smack, wishing he could disappear. “Oh, fuck”.

“Is he someone that’s bothering you?” she propped with a faint scowl.

“No no, he’s just – I….” Kurt stopped, pressing his fingers harder against his eyelids. _I am so –_ “… _fucked_ ”, he moaned, probably that tad bit louder than he intended.

Although he couldn’t see her in his attempt at vanishing, Rachel’s eyes went comically huge and her jaw dropped open. “You _fucked him?!_ ”.

Kurt chocked on air with a strangled gasp, his hands flailing around and he missed hitting his mug just for sheer luck. “ _WHAT?_ God _no_ , Rachel. It’s nothing like that, it’s… nothing really. I just didn’t want to mention it because I knew you wouldn’t let me live it down if I did”

Considering him skeptically, Rachel leaned back and crossed her arms. “Well? I’m waiting”.

“I – “ Kurt sighed, mimicking her and letting himself fall back on the chair. “It’s kind of a long story. Uhm… well, actually… not really. It just started a long time ago, you know? And I thought I completely forgot about him but then the other day…”

“Just spill the tea, Kurt” she interrupted him, but from the glint in her eyes, he could see she was getting far too interested, which annoyed him even more.

Kurt huffed, uncertain, and wondered whether he really wanted to tell this story or if he should make up an improvised lie instead. It was silly – but weirdly, intimately private. It tasted strange and embarrassing on his own tongue, too, but still here he was.

His love/hate relationship with alcohol was getting ridiculous, and was causing too much trouble.

So, Kurt finished his coffee before it got too cold, and then settled in to tell the story of what his damn art project brought him to ask and what an old, forgotten high-school friend unexpectedly decided to reply.  

 

*

 

Once the bomb was dropped, the aftermath was so comical Blaine would have laughed, had it been any other situation.

Mug halfway to his mouth, Sam’s jaw dropped open and coffee inevitably started spilling from his lips, making a mess on the table. Frantically cleaning himself with a napkin, Sam fumbled with his other hand and stuttered, clearly at a loss of words. “Wait wait wait…” he babbled in rapid succession, eyeing his roommate like he just turned purple and grew a tail. “You did _what?!”_

“I –“, Blaine repeated very, very slowly, like he was trying to be cautious with himself in the first place. “– proposed to pose naked for a guy”.

Sam blinked. “You did. What”.

Blaine’s gaze was vacant and unfocused, staring at nothing in the empty space as he awkwardly stood in the doorway. “I –“ the jacket he had under his arm fell to his feet with a thud. “– proposed to pose, naked. For a guy”. 

“You…” Sam stopped and carefully placed his hands on the table. “No, I am not gonna repeat that again”, he reprimanded himself, than moved his bewildered gaze back on Blaine. “Blaine what the fuck”.

“I-I know! It’s just…”

“Please don’t stand there like you just entered the wrong apartment, sit down somewhere. You’re making me anxious”.

Blaine opened and closed his mouth like a fish, still looking nervous and dazed out, then sighed and let his bag drop down alongside his jacket before he took a sit on the chair opposite Sam. “It probably sounds bad said like that, doesn’t it” he grimaced.

“Uhm, duh? At least tell me he’s a friend of yours, although it’d be strange because apparently I don’t know him and I know all your friends?” he investigated, narrowing his eyes and leaning forward. “Were you keeping him a secret?”

“What? No! You see, it’s… kind of complicated but I swear, I have _no idea_ why I proposed to do that, I guess I acted on instinct. It’s just that… he is an artist and he’s studying here and he looked cute and man, do I _need money_ and also –“

“Waitwaitwat,” his best friend interrupted his frantic babbling by raising his hands and looking at him like he was crazy – and coming from Sam, the craziest, dorkiest guy Blaine had ever met, it was a lot. “You’re basically telling me you _really_ proposed to pose naked for a _stranger?_ Dude, seriously, what if he turns out to be a stalker? Or like, a serial killer? _”_

Blaine quickly shook his head and tried to calm Sam down, and maybe clear his own mind in the process too. It felt like it was too soon to have this conversation, but Blaine thought he would explode if he didn’t get it out of his chest as soon as he opened the stupid door. It had escaped from his lips fluent like a breath, nearly giving Sam a heart attack. “Listen, he’s not totally a stranger okay? He’s a guy I met and befriended in high school, but then we lost touch and I almost completely forgot about him – and he did too, apparently. Anyway, he seemed cool and he told me about this project of his, we had coffee and spent hours together. Hell, he even saved my fucking life…” he blathered, slowing down at his last words like he himself was only now remembering, and a slight shiver run through his spine.

Sam’s eyes went impossibly huge once again. “He did _what_?!”

“Lowkey saved my life” Blaine repeated, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Guess I forgot”.

Sam stared at him like he grew another head. “Dude, you almost _freaking died_ and you _forgot?”._

“I told you, he was nice. Captivating” Blaine added, then shrugged, growing impatient and suddenly feeling too put on the spot. He knew he had been way too impulsive and kind of stupid, but that didn’t mean he wanted his best friend to make it sound even worse. “What’s the bid deal anyway? I mean, it _is_ weird, I’ll give you that, but it’s not like I have never done it before. I used to pose as a model for other art schools and academies back in my first days in New York, remember?”

“The big deal is, he’s not a safe academy full of bored naïve students, but a _stranger –“_

“We met in high school”.

“Exactly, high school! He can still be a stalker or a serial killer for all you know, if not worse”.

Blaine tilted his head like a confused puppy. “What’s worse than a serial killer?”. Sam looked at him pointedly and Blaine pouted, giving himself the benefit of doubt.

“Look, I just want you to be careful and think this through, maybe even convince you to call it quits before it’s too late. Usually _you_ are the smart guy between us that tells me off when I do something dumb, so now I want to be here for you, too, okay?” Sam continued after a moment of awkward silence, his voice finally lowering and softening, making Blaine smile slightly despite the mess he created.

“I know Sam, and I… really appreciate it. That’s why I’m telling you this, my mind is still…kind of like, in a daze. It happened so quickly but in that moment it felt natural, you know? Does it make sense?”

Sam shook his head and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, looking him up and down like he was searching for particular signs. “Are you sure he didn’t drug you or something?” he observed, before sitting up straighter with a wild look in his eyes and a tense grimace in his features. “Oh god, crazy psychopaths drugging their victims is such a serial killer thing to do. He probably already tracked you down to this place, we’re going to die”. 

Blaine rolled his eyes dramatically, stopping himself from snapping irritably. He couldn’t believe Sam sometimes. He was his best friend, he was quirky and funny and spontaneous, but also incredibly over-reacting, nerdy and kinda obnoxious.  However, Blaine would never trade him for anything in the world. “Dude, relax. I am not gonna jump butt-naked in his apartment _tomorrow_. Actually I was kind of hoping we would spend another night out so he could explain his project to me a little better. Or something”.

Sam was silent for a moment. “Or something,” he finally echoed sardonically, clearly unimpressed. “Don’t tell me you proposed to model for him just to gain a _date_. There are so many other ways man!”

Blaine gasped loudly like he had been slapped, a shrieking ‘ _What? Of course not!’_ already on his tongue, but the arched eyebrows of his friend convinced him to eat them back. “It’s- it’s not only that, alright? He seemed nice and he needed help, a help I could give because I have experience. It doesn’t really go further than that, okay? Not that I know of …. on his behalf. And, as I said before when you clearly weren’t listening, _I need money_. He said he’d pay me, so it’ll work while I search for another job” Blaine said, ending the discourse with a small hopeful smile, trying to have Sam on his side instead of against him.

He really, _really_ didn’t want to live through another childish “I told you so” experience, but he needed a helpful hand if things went for the worst.

“I –“ Sam tried to objectify once more, but then his shoulders dropped and he exhaled slowly, giving up. “Nevermind, dude. Usually I trust your judgement, so….”, he said with a shrug, looking up at Blaine and pursing his lips slightly. Feeling pleased by Blaine’s bright and content smile, Sam cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “What’s your crush’s name, by the way?”

Blaine rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “I have _not_ a crush, it just came out all wrong before” he said defensively. “And his name is Kurt. Kurt Hummel” he added, looking down for a moment and suddenly noticing Sam’s bright orange t-shirt with the well-know, flashy and cartoony “ _SLAINE!”_ logo on it, the one that matched Blaine’s own, although his read “ _BLAM!”_ instead.

“Maaan!” he whined, standing up on instinct and feeling incredibly guilty and mortified. He figuratively kicked himself. “This was our movie night, wasn’t it? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sam just raised his shoulders dismissively, looking completely at ease. “I figured there was a reason you were late, and then you appeared all invested in this new crazy crush of yours, so I –“

“Not a crush”

“– didn’t feel like holding it against you and rain on your parade. No big deal. We literally live together”.

Blaine grimaced anyway and slumped back on his chair, arms dangling loosely at his sides. “Still. I feel guilty”.

“Besides,” Sam added after a beat, trying to cheer up his friend again. He stretched slightly, intertwining his hands behind his blond head and grinning deviously. “We have all night to watch a movie. But that won’t happen until you put on your T-shirt to match me _and_ spill everything about this Curt Hammer, because honestly, this artist-guy really must be something if you already want to take your clothes off, Rose”.

That was the moment Blaine lost it; he hastily got up and threw his hands in the air, heading to his room to get the infamous shirt. “For fuck’s sake, Sam” he grunted before he disappeared from view, leaving a very delighted Sam Evans behind.

“We could watch Titanic!”

“ _No way!_ ”.

 

 

 

_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is gonna go back to Kurt and Blaine's meeting!
> 
> As always, comments, opinions and constructive criticism are really appreciated, and given that this is still one of my first attempts at writing directly in English, everything is important for me. Thank you in advance  
> See you next chapter!
> 
> Visit me and my art at @Stray_Ashes (Instagram or whatever)


	3. The Prodigy

 

 

 

**(2010)**

_**Four Years Before,** _

_**Somewhere in Ohio** _

 

The lights were blinding, bright, colored – and in the thick air the sound of people clapping, calling, screaming was loud, overwhelming, and to Kurt’s ears, it seemed like it was coming from another, far away world.

The excitement was shaking his very soul, but his skin prickled and he felt distant as his face was being illuminated by a million flashes and his smile was reciprocated by his friends’ bright grins. It seemed perfect.

After all, they technically had just won the competition…only _technically_ because, apparently, it was a draw. Both the Glee clubs, New Directions from McKinley and The Warblers from Dalton, had won first place – something that happened once in a lifetime.

Kurt didn’t know how to feel about that – he was in New Directions, and he was absolutely enthusiastic they had won anyway and that they could access to Regionals, but… a draw? That was incredibly rare, Kurt thought.

There was no denying The Warblers, with their a cappella style, had been crazy good, so Kurt was nowhere near the position to say they hadn’t deserved to win, too.

Breathing heavily, Kurt detached himself from the general loud cheering and disconnected his mind, every sound becoming muffled, like he was underwater. Passively feeling hands patting his shoulders and grasping his arms, he glanced to his right.

The Warblers were cheering and celebrating, too, hugging each other and smiling to their public before they all had to getoff the stage and go home with a brand new trophy. Their very young lead singer, a short guy with black gelled hair, was jumping all around his mates, smiling like he was on cloud nine. He looked oddly cute.

Something in Kurt’s guts twisted, and he felt overwhelmed with a sense of… caducity. They were so young, so naïve, only teens in a big cruel world in the middle of their second high-school year, and winning these competitions seemed the most important thing in world – maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was.

All that Kurt knew was that these years were bound to pass in a blink, and most of the people he was looking at now were going to lose their vitality, their brightness, their dreams – or at least, they would think they’d lost them until they did. It was a long way to go, and Kurt himself suddenly wondered if _he_ was going to make it, if he was strong enough to fight for himself and his own dreams. He didn’t want to be negative, but he had always been realistic and… life hadn’t been too kind on him, after all. He had a lot of scars and missing pieces in his heart to prove it.

He thought about his mom, how she used to believe in him so much, no matter how weird other people thought her child was. She had never given in, never given up, and it was so cruel how he and his dad had been forced to give up on her, at last, instead – obliged to let her go, no options left. One day she was everything to them, and the other there was nothing left at all – so they tried, pain seated deep in their souls, to collect what was left of their happiness by being there for each other.

At that time, words hadn’t been enough to fill the hole anyway, not for a long time; and in the end, no amount of courage and strength and pride she told him he had countless times had been enough to make her memory hurt less. However, those had been enough to save him from the outside world, when he eventually found himself alone and hurt in school, feeling like a filthy liar when he refused his true self in from of others, purely out of fear.

As the Glee club retired to their room, still cheering or annoyingly complaining on how they deserved to win first place alone, Kurt snapped back to reality and he silently hoped nobody – especially Mr. Shue – was going to notice his absence as he discreetly backed out of the room and left.

As he walked down the corridor, his friends’ voices became distant and muffled and nobody was following him, so Kurt exhaled slowly and wandered from room to room, searching for an exit.

Kurt loved singing and loved acting – he _did_ , he just somehow knew that was not what he wanted to do for the rest of his life – not all the time, at least. It all felt like…only a small part of his creative self, a complementary part of something so much bigger and ambitious nested deep inside his chest.

Luckily, contrary to a lot of teens, Kurt was a prepared guy and he was already able to name that giant, feverish and itching feeling of longing he had, that insistent pull to _do_ , to create and experiment: as simple as it could possibly get, it was Art. Just Art, which can be misleading because art has millions of faces and fragments, but that’s what’s so great about it, Kurt had always thought.

It seemed endless, mighty, powerful – something that could easily escape the human capacity to understand and imagine, like when you think about the greatness of infinite space. So in a way, an artist’s a person that tries to go beyond, reaching out blindly to touch something far away, stumbling into pitch black darkness – and still enjoying the feeling completely. It might sound contrasting, but Kurt didn’t expect to be able to explain something that deep with words of a language created by men.

However, the kind of art he wanted to wholly give himself to was the practical side of it, the one that included graphite, paper, paint, ideas, dirty hands and smears of color on skin and clothes – he wanted sketches and paintings and models and sculptures. All he could do, he would.

As his mother once told him, he was born an artist bound to shine like a star, and the world didn’t need superheroes when actual people like him held so much power in their fingers and brains. 

A couple of individuals who found out about his many talents, had called him a prodigy – apparently, they thought that a child that could sing, dance, act, draw, paint, create, write and all that jazz was, indeed, some kind of prodigy. Was he? Kurt, from the inside, didn’t know. It was normal to him, and he honestly didn’t care about being a prodigy, not back when he was fourteen and not now that he was seventeen.

Not many people knew about his passion to draw; for some reasons, he’d thought it was better to keep it to himself, not entirely a secret but not something he would give away easily, either. It was a part of himself too personal and important to talk about in high-school….there, he preferred to care about the singing side of his artistic soul, which was entirely fine by him.

Nobody asked, anyway.

Everyone was too focused on themselves here, after all, and that wasn’t even wrong either, so Kurt didn’t really blame them. Humans were self-centered beings in general, and teenager humans were directly the peak of egocentricity.

Kurt had always had home to give vent to his art, much to Burt’s exasperation sometimes, and the streets; he was aware that those nights out - when he couldn’t resist the _pull -_ were risky and dangerous… So, as he finally reached the back of the building, stinging fresh air hitting his heated skin, Kurt reminded himself that keeping this up was stupid, and that he wanted art to be in his life completely, no exceptions.

He wanted to get better and better and learn about something he didn’t know yet, he wanted to create and express among people that saw the world as he saw it. He both wanted to delete the difference between art and reality, and at the same time, he wanted art that with reality had no business at all. He wanted _everything_.

His face morphed into a sincere little smile and he leaned forward against the railing, feeling the chaos from the inside becoming a low, distant background sound caressing his ears, just like blows of wind were moving bangs of hair on his forehead.

Below him there wasn’t much to see, only a typical back alley looking abandoned and forgotten with trash and shit and ruined walls. Even in the biggest and flashiest theaters, the dark side of what’s beautiful hides away lurking in the back, as everything in life, Kurt pondered, before reprimanding himself about pretentious philosophical thoughts. He wasted too much time on those.

He exhaled slowly. He had another year at McKinley, a year he was willing to enjoy properly while pushing through every obstacle and difficulty self-righteous bigots were going to put in his way, and although he really, really wanted to leave Ohio and find his path somewhere else, maybe in New York, he was happy about the thought of spending another year of his life in the relatively safe walls of his high-school, and safe at home with his dad.

Living in Ohio was a tough challenge, but the world outside was huge, unknown, unpredictable. The bright side of the terrifying image was that it being so wide and vast, so varied and diverse, everyone would be eventually able to find a place to fit in, or feel good by not fitting in and just be accepted.

Nobody said that’d be easy.

“You’re not… intending to jump, are you?” a voice behind him said suddenly, with a tone that was swinging between wavering fear and awkward, hesitant humor. Kurt turned around swiftly, his hands leaving immediately the railing he’d been gripping too tightly during his flow of thoughts. That was a habit of his – it kept him grounded when his mind drifted too far.

Standing a couple meters away from him, there was a short black-haired guy that Kurt recognized as the singer of the Warblers, the black and red blazer proving firmly the theory. He was staring at Kurt with big, deer-like brown eyes and hands mid-raised like he was about to approach a scared animal, although he was the one looking definitely more terrified between the two.

Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes dismissively. “If I really did want to jump, you’d really think I’d do it here? In the shittiest place on earth?”

When the dude didn’t relax in the slightest, actually looking even more alarmed instead, Kurt exhaled slowly and shook his head. “And no, by the way. I’m pretty fine. I just needed air and some alone time to think. There’s a lot of chaos in there” he said pointing briefly at the door and trying his best to sound casual and relaxed for the guy’s sake, really. Kurt could almost hear his fast palpitations from here.

The Warbler eyed him some more, maybe searching for signs of lying or whatever he thought he could find, Kurt didn’t know. Eventually, he stood a little straighter and his features took a sheepish expression. “Ok, well… ok. I understand, that’s actually the reason why I decided to escape in here for a minute, too. I just didn’t expect to, you know…find another guy intently staring down the railing” he said quickly, swallowing at the end and clasping his palms together. “I guess my mind jumped to conclusions…”

Kurt half-smiled sheepishly too, suddenly feeling embarrassed for some reason. “Yeah, sorry, it’s just that I easily get carried away in my own mind, so I can see your…point” he answered, frowning a little and glancing at the rusty railing.

“It’s okay,” the other guy said, biting his lip and lacing his arms behind his back, gaze moving rapidly from side to side, up to Kurt and back to the ground. Kurt raised an eyebrow.

“You are in the New Directions, aren’t you?” the lad said at last, in an awkward attempt at conversation, and Kurt looked at him up and down. Alone time was definitely over then, but at least the guy seemed nice enough, despite his still nervous stance, and he smiled back softly, hoping to look genuine and not stiff as he felt.

“Yes, indeed, I am” he answered, actually feeling impressed because on himself he didn’t have anything to prove the guy’s theory right, no uniform and no flashy costumes anymore. Kurt was dressed like a normal boy, but maybe the other singer had saw him and recognized him during the show, although he actually didn’t do much if not choreography and back-vocals. That being the reason he was impressed he’d been recognized at all. “And you are with the Warblers” he said matter-of-factly.

The Dalton student smirked and tilted his head to the side. “Caught me. What gave it away?” he said jokingly, clearly referring to his very recognizable blazer, and Kurt smiled a little more.

“I don’t know. Guess I just have good instincts”.

They both chuckled and Kurt leaned back against the railing as the two of them finally unstiffened – Kurt hadn’t even fully realized he’d been stiff and guarded this all time, didn’t even know why.

There was some silence again, both of them staring at nothing in particular, until the young Warbler decided to snap out of it and be brave. He hopped forward with a friendly smile and an outstretched arm, and Kurt wondered fleetingly how this ball of sunshine could exist in Ohio. “Oh, anyway! My name’s Blaine”.

Overcoming his initial surprise, Kurt blinked and awkwardly took his hand. “Kurt”.

Blaine smiled contently and looked like he repeated the name to himself, maybe to taste it on his tongue, much to Kurt’s weirded out confusion. “Nice to meet you. And congratulation on the win, by the way. I really liked your exhibition” he continued with a smile that appeared pure and genuine, and Kurt couldn’t even find any trace of false cordiality in it, like he usually did. This guy was too polite for his own good, but it felt like a breath of fresh air – which was exactly what Kurt had needed from the start, he only wasn’t expecting to find it in a person.

“Thank you,” Kurt replied, biting his own lip slightly. “You were crazy good, too, I must admit. I like your group’s dynamic”, ‘ _although I prefer when more people have the chance to sing, and not only one guy’,_ his mind bitterly added, but it didn’t seem nice to say as much in the face of the lead singer himself. _He_ seemed nice and maybe he didn’t deserve the bitter comment …unless he turned out to be some kind of Mr.Hyde among his classmates and acted as a tyranny claiming all the solos. Rachel’s psycho face popped up in Kurt’s mind, but he pushed it away.

Blaine’s smile widened, showing his snow-white teeth and making his round cheeks puff and blush, both from joy and the cool wind blowing lazily around them.

“Yes, although I absolutely freaking love playing instruments, the ‘a cappella’ arrangement gets me every time, and I’m pretty honored that this year I’ve been chosen to sing even though I’m kinda new in there. First year actually” Blaine said, his cheeks reddening a little more, and he looked at Kurt with something hopeful in his eyes, and Kurt got the idea that the dude wanted to be sure he’d been officially recognized as the singer, and not only a random Warbler.

Kurt nodded slowly, considering. ‘ _So he doesn’t always get all the solos after all. Not a Rachel. Good’_. “Really? From what I heard… you have a great voice, I can see why they chose you” he replied, feeling bold enough for compliments, because for once they were well deserved, and Kurt was feeling nice. For what he could recall, Blaine _had_ a pretty fantastic voice indeed. Besides, Blaine’s bright eyes and blush made it worth it anyway.

“In New Directions things work a little differently. Sometimes you get a solo, sometimes you get nothing and you just become a color in the background. It’s tough proving something sometimes, but I like them, they make me feel at home. All the pros and cons included”.

Blaine pouted slightly, looking down at his shoes. “Yeah, I’ve been in a public school in the past…” he said, almost to himself, then shook his head and trained a warm smile back on Kurt, that was almost tempted to ask what had had him look so down all of a sudden, but then he remembered he barely knew the guy. It would probably be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Kurt was not really good at social stuff, so he let it go.

After a moment of silence, Kurt decided to do the first step himself this time, and voice his doubts. “What are you actually doing in here?” he asked while eying him carefully, trying to make Blaine understand his suspicion without it coming off too rude. “I mean. This should be your moment, everyone must be looking for you in there – to celebrate or… to leave, even. What are you actually doing here”

Taken aback, Blaine gaped slightly, lips parted, no sound coming out, but Kurt didn’t say anything – he just let the guy process the legitimate question.

“Well I…” Blaine started, still looking unsure, as his fingers twitching at his sides proved solidly. He furrowed his thick eyebrows, looking down. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head like he wanted to shove away his thoughts, too. However, his smile was weak and nervous this time. “I told you. I needed some peace, some silence. Just like you did. It gets oppressive sometimes…”, he licked his lips. “You know”.

Kurt arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms on his chest. “Alright…”. The rest of the sentence, he kept it to himself, opting to ask instead: “We’ve never… we’ve never met before, have we?”, briefly gesturing between himself and Blaine, who shook his head quickly. The guy was still standing by the door, some feet away from Kurt, and Kurt had always thought _he_ was a weird guy, but this Warbler dude was trespassing every level of awkward he had ever reached.

“So,” Blaine said in the end. “You sing?”

Kurt stared at him blankly, wondering how they went from nice and normal to this – and he felt uncomfortable in his own skin. What was this boy’s problem, seriously. “Yeah. Listen, I should probably go now. It was… nice meeting you Blaine” he said carefully, moving forward towards the door and throwing him a quick smile when Blaine stuttered a disoriented “y-yeah”.

However, before he had completely surpassed him and the door, a firm hand grasped his arm in a quick movement, and Kurt used every ounce of his will-power and self-control to _not_ jump around and hit Blaine in the face, hard, as his instincts had taught him to react when people grabbed him without permission.

“I lied”.

Blaine didn’t pull though, didn’t yank him back, he just silently asked him to stop, and his grip slowly weakened.

Kurt blinked. “Lied about what”.

Blaine visibly swallowed, his adam’s apple moving under the thin skin of his throat. “Lied about not having seen you before,” his said in a breath, so quick Kurt barely heard. “And about coming here just for air. I-I…”

Kurt straightened his back, unreasonably happy about the little height difference he had over the guy, and knowing more than before that he should just _leave_ and don’t look back, because this was getting creepy and ridiculous. However, he was a bored seventeen years old guy, and he didn’t care if curiosity killed the cat. “What do you mean?” he asked, forcing his voice lower and icy-cold.

Blaine finally registered his fingers were still clasped around Kurt’s clothed arm, and he yanked his hand back like he got burnt. “I know I probably sound like a mad man and I _swear_ I don’t want this to be creepy…” he tried to explain, but when he saw Kurt’s stiff stance and guarded features he grimaced visibly. “…although I know I’m failing miserably. God, I’m so bad at this”, he huffed, letting out a nervous little laugh and covering his face with his hand for a second. “At first I didn’t want to say it because… it’s weird. Gosh, I’m sorry. It’s just I – I saw you today and I was _sure_ it was actually you, and when I saw you leave and come here I thought… I thought I could talk to you”

Kurt looked even more bewildered and speechless then before, with every right to be in fact, and Blaine wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole, he and all his misery. He’d come here to befriend Kurt, or just see what kind of person he was, not to weird him out and make a creepy fool out of himself.

Kurt glanced from side to side, a well hid but still there panic in his blue eyes. “Sure it was me _who_ ”, he repeated carefully. “Blaine I think – I think you’re mistaking me for someone else. I should- ”.

Blaine sighed and shook his head. “I saw you – that night” he retorted, taking a deep breath before he could elaborate, but the other boy beat him to it, his nervous alarm clearer than before as he took a cautious step back.

“Saw me _where?”_

 _That’s it._ “In Rover Street. Near…near the park. I walk through that street every morning, and it was always the same grey, decayed wall, but then one day…”

Kurt’s blood ran cold. How could that be possible? He checked for people and cameras and he had seen none, but he’d kept on every precaution anyway; mask, hood and baggy clothes, all black and dark blue like a shadow in the night. After a second of stunned silence, Kurt darted forward and suddenly got in Blaine’s personal space, whose words died in his throat and left him frozen in surprise.

Kurt narrowed his eyes and pointed his finger at Blaine, threatening but careful not to touch. “ _You_ ,” he hissed venomously. “didn’t see _anything_ ”.

Blaine blinked, and okay that Kurt, much to his own disappointment, didn’t look that much of a threat, but he seemed too cool about this. “Dude, relax, I didn’t tell anybody, okay? What you did is _incredible_ , absolutely stunning, you have a great talent“.

Kurt shook his head vehemently and looked around uncomfortably. “We shouldn’t talk about that here”.

Blaine mimicked his movement. “There’s no one else here” he said matter-of-factly.

Kurt rolled his eyes and stared at him pointedly, lips a thin line. “Yeah, and that night I thought there was no one else there, too”

Blaine’s cheeks regained color and the fucker had the bravery to laugh. “Touché” he commented, still grinning, and probably happy Kurt wasn’t running away calling him a creep after all. “But what’s wrong about that anyway?”

Kurt stared for a second, trying to understand if he was joking. He wasn’t. “It’s illegal”.

“Oh,” Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s illegal”, he echoed. “I just thought you…”.

Kurt rolled his eyes again, and then realized the mistake he made. “But you won’t– “.

“Tell anybody, yeah, don’t worry. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kurt considered him for a moment, looking up and down his face, searching for something he seemed to find in the end. He nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, especially how the hell did Blaine recognize him, and what the hell was he doing in the _middle of the night_ in Rover Street a couple months ago, and why was he here now, which had been his original question even before everything went down.

“Why did you…” he started tentatively, quite not looking in Blaine’s eyes. “Why’d you follow me here though?”

Blaine’s lips parted, but no sound came out, like he needed a little more time to choose the right answer – if he actually knew an answer, that is. “I don’t know,” he settled for in the end, licking his lips and shrugging. “I saw you here and I always thought I would never see you again, so I… felt the instinct to get near you. See for myself who was behind the art I get to see everyday” he mumbled, then felt the need to say more, “I even walked through-out the city searching for more of your works. I almost hit a street lamp while looking at the walls” he confessed, with a sheepish and embarrassed little grin. “Is it- is it weird?” he asked after a second of awkward silence, grimacing slightly.

“I –“ Kurt stuttered, impressed and quite abashed Blaine had done that. “Maybe. But that’s actually kind of… flattering” he offered blinking.

Blaine’s bright but cautious smirk reappeared. “I’ve found four”, he said, like a proud child winning a treasure hunt.

Kurt’s eyebrows shot up and he crossed his arms on his chest. “How can you even tell those are mine? There are plenty of street-writers and artists in this shithole of city”

Blaine bit his lip, considering. “The style, I guess. It’s recognizable, and really great. Moreover, there’s the phoenix”.

Hearing he word, the signature figure he kept close to his core, made him feel like someone had just opened a door and was stepping in, getting way too close. He swallowed. “Phoenix?”

“Yeah. You almost always paint a phoenix somewhere, sometimes great and fierce like in Rover Street, sometimes only a detail. I figured that was your…your signature, somehow”.

Feeling a shiver run through his spine, Kurt opened his mouth to reply when a muffled but definitely yelled sound reached his ears, and he recognized his own name in the scream, Rachel’s shrill voice echoing and reaching their ears. He closed his mouth and sighed through his nose.

“I really have to go now” he said instead, glad and disappointed at the same time that the conversation was over – it didn’t happen really often (or almost at all) to discuss his art with someone that wasn’t his dad, and despite the stricken fear at the thought he had been caught (the New York Academy of Arts would have _never_ let him get in if he spent months in a reformatory for vandalism on private proprieties). “I mean it, Blaine. Please don’t say anything to anyone” he repeated once more, moving another step back and pointing his finger to Blaine, looking at him sternly and feeling kind of lost and confused when Blaine looked _sad_ like a kicked puppy.

“Of course…” the boy mumbled.

“Alright”, Kurt said to himself. Then he turned around and moved two steps, before he stopped and looked back. “Anyway,” he called, and Blaine’s eyes shot up, surprised. “There are five”.

Blaine quickly grasped what he was talking about and gasped silently, faltering. “Five? Where’s- where’s the fifth?”

Kurt shrugged, smirking slyly. “Now you know something more about me,” he pointed out, ignoring Rachel’s screams getting nearer. “So look a little closer”.

When he left and completely disappeared from view, Blaine stared blankly at nothing, mulling the words in head.

Closer. Closer to what?

Blaine _had_ looked closer when Kurt got in his space to ‘threaten’ him ( _cute_ ), and he’d noticed how deep and blue his eyes were, or how flames burned in his irises despite the ocean color. However, he doubted Kurt meant something like that.

When the Warblers eventually found him they gave him a good lecture and everything about disappearing and making everyone worried sick, but he didn’t really listen, just nodded and said sorry numerous times, assuring he was okay.

He celebrated and laughed with everyone, feeling light-headed and enthusiast as he and his classmates brought the trophy back at Dalton.

On his way back home, however, he passed in Rover street like he did everyday, except that this time, as he looked at the red and yellow phoenix painted on the wall, it seemed like it was staring straight at him, knowing and perceptive, and it bewildered him more than ever the thought of Kurt’s small and soft, milky-white hands painting something that great in just a night.

Some other people had surely already noticed the painting, and he wondered briefly if they would have ever imagined that such thing had been done by a young seventeen years old boy with the face of an angel and a soft voice that hid a fire raging inside. Probably not.

Leaving the painting behind, he felt like no one but him knew the prodigy Kurt was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so late aaaaah I'm really sorry, but these last two weeks I've been going through quite a lot - in a positve way.  
> In fact, I finally moved out and now I'm living in Turin alone (no, with a roommate actually, but you get me) and I will be starting my courses the 22th of October. I will be studying New Technologies of Art, btw
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, although I know it's kind of confusing and awkward, but I hope it wasn't too terrible.  
> As always, point out mistakes, it'll help improving my English for further usage. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think, see ya!


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